


Childhood Heroes

by consulting_dreamer



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Consulting Husbands (Sherlock), Crime Fighting, Gen, Jim Moriarty is the uncle, John Watson Being A Dad, Multi, My First Work in This Fandom, Mystery, Original Character(s), Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Sherlock Holmes Has Feelings, Sherlock and John being parents, Ships are canon, Slow Burn, Soft Sherlock Holmes, Tags Are Hard, Teenagers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-21
Updated: 2020-12-28
Packaged: 2021-03-06 22:20:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,715
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26046433
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/consulting_dreamer/pseuds/consulting_dreamer
Summary: She met them when she needed help the most, when all is lost and darkness drew the path. Now Lillian needs them again to shed some light on the new life she might have because of evil schemes doing the job of the devil.Her case becomes more complicated than they thought - questions with no answers, clues leading to nothing, and names bearing nonsense."Don't turn people into heroes, John.Heroes don't exist, and if they did...I wouldn't be one of them."
Relationships: Jim Moriarty & Original Female Character(s), John Watson & Original Female Character(s), Sherlock Holmes & Original Child Character(s), Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Kudos: 4





	1. Doctor John Watson

**Author's Note:**

> Hello. Just so you know, English is NOT my first language so if I made mistakes and errors, a helpful advice would be a great help. Thank you and Merry Readings! xx

Amidst the buzzing sea of busy bodies groaning and trudging to and fro their work, a young girl of six was running how fast her short legs could take her. The people continued to gather on her way and she does her best to dodge them, occasionally hitting an arm or leg.

"Hey," she called at her playmates while they ran to the streets. Lillian laughed as she almost fell on her face, luckily she kept my balance and continued running. She slowly progressed to a stop when she coudn't catch sight of the other children anymore. They were a couple of themselves around Lillian's age, almost the same height as hers, and they wore colourful clothes. Should be easy to find with their exuberance but Lillian cannot see them at all.

She looked behind her then in front of her. _Maybe I'm ahead,_ she thought.

Lillian stamped her feet upon the concrete, getting frustrated for leaving her again. She grumbled when the adults weren't being much of a help as well. If they didn't speak or more or breathe for a while, Lillian could concentrate better to find her own way in this sea.

She stood aside by a quiet book shop. She took a deep breath and closed her eyes, clutching her rubber ball tighter in her arms. She focused on hearing her playmates' laughter and high pitched giggles, but only groans and negativity were heard from the infuriating grown ups. Lillian huffed in annoyance. She walked out of the shop but got distracted when she caught glimpse of a flash of a camera on the other side of the road. Something flashed in her mind as well.

On the other end of the street, a young Doctor John Watson indulged his boring afternoon just window-shopping and other tedious stuff a man with troubled thoughts would do to keep himself calm. John was nervous really, about the degree he took. It's been a tough week again at the dreadful hospital sessions of his studies, the stress was taking its toll again with the almost unnoticeable tremor in his hand.

So, he took his time by going out in this crowded part of the city, a bit far away from the college, hoping one might come into his way to spark positivity in his life.

While a scene with no roots played in her mind, a business man bumped Lillian, making her let go of the ball. She snapped out of the scene and chased after the ball that was being kicked by the infuriating adults, not even minding to give it back. The ball only stopped when a man blocked its way with his foot. He picked it up, curious why a ball would be here. Lillian emerged in front of him and his curiosity grew rather than paid.

Lillian and John stared at each other. He saw a child too shy to ask for her ball back; Lillian saw a more than a man—a professional, intelligent, moral, and kind. A good person at heart.

"Is this yours?" John asked, handing over the ball to Lillian. She coyly nodded and tucked the ball in her arms. For a long moment, the two of them stayed there like two molecules at rest amidst bustling groups.

"Are you lost?" John asked. Lillian gazed up to him, noticing the concern written in his face. It was now her turn to become curious.

"Uhm..." Lillian gulped. She asked herself if she is indeed lost. "Yes."

John looked around the area then guided Lillian away to a peaceful corner. He knelt down to be eye-level with Lillian and asked, "What's your name?"

"Lillian."

"Just Lillian?" Lillian nodded. "I'm John Watson. Where are your parents, Lillian?"

Lillian gulped again, she bit her lip anxiously. "I-I don't have any parents."

John raised an eyebrow and tilted his head a bit. He clicked his tongue as he thinks of what to do. "Where do you live then?"

"S-St. Christina's Orphanage," she answered.

John nodded. "Oh. Well, this is not really a good place for children so it would be better to get you home, don't you think? And it's almost sunset so they might be worrying about you already."

Lillian stayed silently listening to John. There was something in his voice she found soothing not from other men. They were creepy men, the ones in foster homes, but with John she felt safe to be with him.

"We could ask questions on the way since I'm familiar in this part of the city, too," said John.

"We could ask the police," suggested Lillian.

John smiled at Lillian's smart thought. "Yes, great thinking." He stood up with a smile on his face, looking down at Lillian. "Shall we?"

There's the familiar whisper in Lillian's ear that told her to ditch the orphanage, to get out of the boring, unpleasant place; yet another whispered to go home in fear she might end up worse than lost.

"Yes please...," Lillian mumbled. She absentmindedly took hold John's hand which caught John off-guard but still smiled.

"Right, now where do the policemen hangout?" John glanced at Lillian.

Lillian furrowed her eyebrows and answered with the most obvious answer. "The police station."

"And where would that be?"

"I don't know. I've never been there, but I sent someone before."

"This is harder than I thought," John muttered under his breath. As far as he knew, he's not very good with kids, but Lillian's good at giving help.

"I went this way if that helps, Mr. Watson." Lillian led John to the direction she came from. John was already charmed with the young girl's quick, intelligent thinking. He adjusted Lillian's hold on his hand, keeping her tiny hand safe in his. Lillian turned to him, a small smile forming on her lips. She slowed down her quick, almost running pace, to walk along with John.

The sun was almost down and the surroundings everywhere got painted with a shade of blue. The streetlights flickered on, showing each street name John and Lillian came across to. When Lillian recalls a street, she gets a bit jumpy as if finding a very important clue and John finds it amusing.

"The pavement's made with bluestone," informed Lillian, looking down at their feet. "It's not very slippery... for now. The stones are sealed tight on the ground so water can't come through so it's gonna make a puddle. That's how puddles are made!" She looked up to John with a wide smile.

John returned the smile. "The mysteries of puddles have been solved! How did you know that?"

"Someone wrote it on a book and then I was under the rain so I noticed the puddles. What does 'mysteries' mean?"

"It's well uhm, something too hard to explain, but sometimes there's no need for an explanation, you need to find it out yourself. You know puzzles? Those are mysteries, unsolved problems."

"Like our way to the orphanage?" jumped Lillian.

"Exactly!" John chuckled.

Like Dorothy following the golden brick road, John and Lillian followed the bluestone pavement leading to the orphanage, occasionally sharing a fact about themselves for a nice conversation. At one point in the journey, Lillian was too tired to keep walking so John lifted her up to his arms gently and protectively.

"I didn't know it would be this far," commented John.

"I didn't know, too, but there it is!" Lillian pointed the iron gates a few meters away across the street. John held up his hand to slow down a car on the road and they crossed the road unharmed. He gently put Lillian to the ground and rang the doorbell.

There was clattering from inside the home then a few loud voices. A nun goes through the front door and to the gates. She firstly noticed John and then Lillian who shook the gates, getting the sister's attention. She gasped, quickly opening the gate and hugging Lillian. The young girl however, wasn't too fond of the reaction.

"Oh thank you for bringing dear Lillian back. We thought she was at the playground with her friends, we only noticed she was gone when we were sitting for dinner," Sister Marge blurted out.

"You're welcome. We got kind of lost on the way," John replied.

"How could we ever repay you Mr..."

"Watson. _Dr. Watson._ "

"Thank you Dr. Watson. May God bless you." Sister Marge gave a stern look at Lillian. "What do you say, child?"

"Thank you Dr. Watson." Lillian went back to her shy self.

"It's no problem. It's been my job to help people at all. You take care of yourself, okay? It was nice meeting you." He and Lillian shook hands. Her grasp lingering for a while before letting him go. Sister Marge and Lillian went inside the orphanage after John left.

Lillian was sat for dinner while Sister Marge bickered at her for another trouble she has made. Being the child she is, everything she heard went in one ear and slipped out the other. Lillian thought it wasn't her fault she found the place boring than the moon; although the moon probably has a lot more fun to be frank. The streets always have something happening in them which piqued the young girl's interest. The _mysteries_ every day has to unfold.

After washing the dishes as her punishment, Lillian went to her shared room. She slept with the thought of having an amazing day and meeting an amazing person. She would totally _kill_ to go that far away again.

Unfortunately, she wasn't allowed to be that far away again. She had to stay and play with her housemates she found to be the most annoying people in the world, and they found her rather weird, unfriendly, and obnoxious. In that case, Lillian was a loner, keeping her own thoughts to herself.

It happened that one weekend afternoon, the orphanage society decided it would be nice to take the children to a nearby park for a breathe of fresh air. Lillian wanted it more than ever, but then again she wasn't allowed to go away from the group she never belonged to. An outsider as usual, until she saw a familiar face.

"Dr. Watson!" Lillian ran up to him. "Hi!"

"Hello Lillian. How are you?" asked John. Lillian sat beside him on the bench as they shared a great conversation. It was like meeting a friend after a long time.

Every weekend since then, Lillian anticipated seeing John watching over the park. She listened intently more than John thought, there's a small list in her mind about being a doctor. John on the other hand, enjoyed Lillian's tiny company and thought of it as a reminder the world's always bigger in the innocent mind, there's a lot more to worry and to ignore. A breath of fresh air when they meet under the same bench, under the acorn tree.

John arrived late at the usual spot. He saw Lillian hugging her scratched knee to her chest. Lillian, teary-eyed with also a scratch on her cheek, heard footsteps approach and looked up. John, being a doctor, quickly came to aid Lillian and asked her what has happened, why was she crying and who did it to her.

"Have you told the headmistress?" asked John, wiping Lillian's tears. She quickly shook her head. "Come on. She needs to know."

John carried Lillian to the headmistress, who was watching the other children and obviously wasn't paying attention if everyone was in the group.

"I thought I said you should be careful on watching the children," John snapped. "I saw Lillian again and she told me, the kids ganged up on her and did this to her. See, bleeding knee and face."

Sister Marge turned red in embarrassment but stood up against John. "Excuse me sir but how could you say that?!" She barked. "I'm very sure the young angels wouldn't do that—they're all taught good conduct. Not everyone then I suppose, Lillian has been cutting classes according to reports."

"You made me clean the whole girls' room!" answered Lillian, clutching her tiny hand in John's sweater.

" _You_ have been a disrespectful, disobedient, insolent child!"

The other children in the park and nuns crowded around them. Everyone backing Sister Marge while John and Lillian stood for themselves.

"How can you say that?!" angered John. "She's a kid! Lillian might be a quiet and shy and she's usually alone but she wouldn't do anything bad, start a fight or say hurtful things without reason. You could teach her nicely, but I guess you're too old for that."

Sister Marge gasped. "Isn't it curiouser that you—"

"It's 'more curious', not 'curiouser,'" remarked Lillian.

Sister Marge continued, ignoring Lillian. "—you know more about her than us? Can I question what are you doing to her while you take her away from us? I've been seeing you here a lot of times now and spending time with her. That must be something to talk about." She motioned another sister to take Lillian from John. Before Lillian could hold tighter to John, she was pulled away. John jumped to take her back but Sister Marge stepped to his way.

"Lillian has been telling me how much unfair you are to her when it comes to the children. She told me of your punishments to her and there were horrifying—" 

"And what you are doing is not?!"

"I've been her friend! I make sure she's alright whenever you and your society of fool-headed—"

Sister Marge held up a hand. "You can talk about me, you child-admirer, but you cannot talk about my ministry!" She spun around, leaving John more provoked to report them.

Lillian was locked in the cleaning materials closet the rest of the night. She shouted for help, to let her out or else she would escape again and tell the police. Sitting into the corner of the small room, she thought to herself like she always did in the place. She thought about John. Whatever Sister Marge was implying John was doing to her was the complete opposite. There were men, the creepy men, who did it before and Lillian sent them to the police. John was the kindest, most helpful and caring person Lillian had ever met in her entire life. John was the closest person she had to a father.

The next week, Lillian was locked in the bathroom. She destroyed the sink, using the pipe to break the lock of the door, and left the bathroom flooded. She used the shortcut around the church to get faster to the park, trudging over the garden's flower and dismantling the fence. Arriving at the park, she noticed John standing behind the usual tree, looking over the children quite far from him.

"Doctor Watson!" called Lillian, running over to him.

John jumped on hearing Lillian's voice. He knelt to the ground and met Lillian with a hug.

"Oh, I'm sorry, Lillian. I wished I could've been more protective when they were... saying those mean things about you. I promise I'll be so I decided to ado—" 

"They're sending me away," mumbled Lillian, pulling away with her head drooped sadly. "They said I'm leaving tomorrow because I was the worst and the devil completely consumed my mind. They're lying, right?" 

"Yes. Those are pure lies, Lillian, definitely pure evil lies. You are the nicest and kindest girl I know," replied John. "If you're leaving tomorrow, is there anything I can do to stop it? What if I hand on papers, report your experiences in that place?" 

Lillian shook her head, a tear slipping from her vacant blue eyes. "I'm sorry."

"I should be the one saying sorry. You didn't do anything wrong."

"I broke the rules, I said mean things to everyone and hurt them."

"You didn't do that to me," said John, wiping again Lillian's tears.

Lillian sobbed and hugged John again. "Goodbye Doctor Watson. You were like a dad to me." Lillian said the thoughts she had.

There was huge aching feeling that thumped suddenly in John. It was warm for a second and then it became painful like an organ has been snatched without the use of anesthesia, now there's a hole in his body bleeding out. He locked Lillian tighter in his arms, not wanting to let her go. But Lillian, feeling all the guilt for being herself—a weird loner, unfriendly, obnoxious, insolent—wanted to run away and leave everything already without harming anyone more.

And that's what she did.

Pushing John away with all her might, he dropped to the ground. Lillian made the run for it without looking back, she bolted faster like someone was chasing her. She got herself lost in the crowd again, coming back to the world she never belonged to.


	2. Jim Moriarty, Consultant

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> !Warning! Dark thoughts and it's going to be violent in this chapter—both physical and verbal.

The school bell rang one last time of the day. Students of the third-grade class hurriedly packed up their stuff inside their bags. Lillian, however, was taking it slow, leaving the classroom last. She scanned the corridors before breaking to a run to the parking lot. Just as she arrived at the doors, her school bus passed through the gates. The children, who lived in the orphanage like her, stuck out their tongues mockingly at Lillian. One threw paper balls at her until they couldn't reach her.

Lillian curled her fists, huffing out a bit of anger to calm herself down. She tightly grabbed the straps of her bag and walked towards the gates. As she crossed the grassy grounds, she can't help but notice the noisy children playing, throwing the dirt and grass at each other. Parents were occupied with latest nonsense chats to each other, laughing and sharing glances.

_Morons_ , Lillian thought to both the children and adults. _A waste of oxygen and brains._

Lillian silently kept her thoughts to herself as she exited the school grounds, more than happy to be out of the miserable place. Scratch that. Everywhere was miserable. The dullness, stupidity, carelessness, and violence of humanity made the earth the most miserable place in the whole galaxy. Lillian wished she was at the moon—it was far better than anywhere else.

All of a sudden, Lillian met the ground forward. She scraped her hands when she tried to stop the fall. Turning around, she met the familiar faces of Ginger and Dana O'Hare, her fellow schoolmates who liked to pick on her.

“Go away,” Lillian sternly told them, but Ginger harshly grabbed her bag. A game of tug of war happened between, Lillian was outnumbered however, and with the body-build of Dana, the young girl was losing to them. She tugged again once, but the seams on the strap got ripped. Lillian released, making the other two fall to the ground.

“Loser.” Ginger quickly got up and pushed Lillian away to check her bag. The red-haired girl and her accomplice rummaged through Lillian’s bag, thrashing everything inside.

“Stop it! That’s mine!” yelled Lillian. “I need those for school!” She stomped her way to them but the two forced her away. They examined Lillian’s belongings, but actually just glancing in less than five seconds, then threw each object behind their shoulders.

If looks could kill, Lillian would like very much for that to happen. She huffed and glared daggers at them, beyond angry. She was clenching her fist and gritting her teeth as she watched them throw out the contents of her ragged bag.

“Yuck, your notebook’s so dirty and it doesn’t have pages anymore. What do you do with it?” Dana inspected the notebook, only to throw it to the empty road, making some bits of paper scatter on the asphalt.

“It’s an activity notebook, dummy! I gave the papers to the teacher.” Lillian walked towards the open road to pick up her stuff. “Can you please stop? I’m ordering you to stop!”

Ginger took out a shiny grey box and held its sharp content. Its metal point glimmered something in Lillian’s eyes as she watched the bullies, getting less and less impatient. She averted her gaze away from them and to the approaching black car down the street. 

Ginger twirled the drawing compass between her fingers. “You don’t need this for school because you don’t belong to school, weirdo!”

“Yeah, you’re an orphan freak. That’s why no one’s gonna adopt you,” supported Dana.

“Shut up!” yelled Lillian, her fists now shaking.

“Weirdo! Freak! Orphan! Stupid!” Ginger and Dana chanted at Lillian continuously.

Too much anger was fuming inside her, and too much was always a danger to everyone. Losing control, Lillian snatched the compass out of Ginger’s hand and stabbed her and Dana. They squealed from the sudden sharp pain in their arms and shoulders. Lillian pushed Ginger into the ground and kicked her knee with great force. While Lillian was distracted with hearing the _satisfying_ sound of bone snapping, Dana grabbed her and pushed her to the road. Removing her face from the tarmac, she looked up to see the bright lights of the black car feet away from her.

Lillian closed her eyes, expecting the impact, but instead there was the loud screech of the tires and the car halted inches away from her face. A man in a suit came out of the vehicle, he first noticed the two girls on the side of the street, whimpering in pain. Dana and Ginger walked up to him, asking for help. Lillian can’t see why but the bullies suddenly shut their mouths and scrambled away.

“Hey kid.” Another man approached Lillian. He pointed his flashlight at her. “Are you alright?”

Lillian jerked up, crawling away from the man.

"He asked you if you're alright," said the man in the suit, appearing beside her. He tilted his head slightly, waiting for an answer while the other man put his flashlight back to his jacket.

Lillian ignored the both of them, wanting nothing whatsoever with the strangers. She proceeded to get her tossed belongings, sighing at the sight of her torn-up bag as well. When she thought everything was back, she turned around to see the besuited man handing her blooded compass. He wiped the blood with his thumb and showed a sinister grin. Lillian hesitantly took the compass from him and dropped it into her bag.

"Poor bag," the stranger muttered.

Lillian looked up to him, confused. "It's okay. Thank you for your help, Mr. Stranger." She was about to turn away when he spoke again.

"Uh no no no no. I'm giving you a ride home." He pointed with his thumb at his car. "You don't want to get murdered tonight, do ya?"

_Such a strange thing to say to a child,_ Lillian thought. Not that she knows a thing or two about murder, but this man...

"I'm not suppose to talk to strangers, nonetheless come with them," replied Lillian, keeping her blank gaze.

"Then why are you still talking to me then?" he retorted. "Jim Moriarty." He let out a hand.

"Lillian." They shook hands.

"Just Lillian?" He asks and she nodded. _Why do people ask her that every single time?_

"Well Lillian—" Moriarty motioned to the car "—I suggest you need a ride home since it's getting a bit dark, and your Mummy and Daddy might be really _really_ worried about you."

He opened the door of his car, waiting Lillian to get in. She reluctantly went inside the car without commenting about the parents part. Moriarty followed and told her to scooch over so he can sit inside his limousine.

"Where to, Lillian?" Jim Moriarty asked.

_To the moon and never back,_ answered the voice in Lillian's mind.

"Uh... Children's Society, Kilburn," she answered instead.

"Greeeeaaat— wait, you're an orphan?" Moriarty gave her a look, the look Lillian saw in many other people's faces when she mentioned that part of her dull life.

Lillian raised an eyebrow at him. "Yes... that's why I live in an orphanage."

There was a slight curl at the edge of Moriarty's lips. He nodded to the driver in the front, "Seb, to our takeaway then the orphanage."

The driver started driving. Jim Moriarty took out his phone and sent a message. Lillian on the other hand, being a curious child, scanned the interior of the car—from the smooth felt ceiling, the slick leather chairs, and the spotless floor on her feet.

"You have a really cool car," she told Moriarty.

"Thank you. I've got loads back at home," he replied nonchalantly.

"Whoa. You must super rich then."

Moriarty chuckled then put his phone away. Turning to Lillian, he said in a proud voice, "I saw those sick moves you did earlier, I gotta say it was cool especially using the sharp compass. How old are you, Lily Pond? Can I call you that?"

Lillian nodded with a smile. She barely heard nicknames for her, just insults. "I'm nine, and thank you, someone taught me self-defense."

"And the bad bullies, nasty buggers—how old are they?"

"Dana, the chubby one, is the same as me but in second grade. Ginger, her older sister and the one with the broken knee, is twelve years old. We used to live in the same orphanage but they got adopted and they kept on telling I won't get be like them because I'm weird. That's why they do that."

They reached a restaurant, parked at the front, but neither Moriarty nor his driver got out. They were waiting... for what?

"Mr. Moriarty, can I ask you a question?" asked Lillian, turning to him.

"You already are asking, dear."

"What's your job, if you don't mind telling me?"

Moriarty looked at Lillian, his sinister smile growing. The young girl was fazed with it but she didn't show. There was something she cannot place about it, and yet it matches as well the mysterious aura of Jim Moriarty, which makes him approachable in a way.

"I'm a consultant," he simply answered.

"What does a consultant do?"

"People ask me for help or advice so I give them what they need. But of course, there's a big payment for each help."

Lillian thought for a second. "That sounds like a cool job. I wish that one day I could help people as well."

"What's your dream job?" Mr. Moriarty asked.

"I wanted to be a doctor and then I wanted to be a police, and now I want to be a spy," started Lillian. Moriarty noticed the same glimmer he saw earlier. "There's a huge difference between a police and a spy. A police only has one side; a spy has two, like a coin, and they can be both at the same time. But I also like fighting, it's like playing but with cool gadgets and guns—totally awesome! And then if I get hurt, I'll take care of myself because I'm a doctor. Also, a doctor is very smart. They know what exactly to do to the human body, it's either to kill or let it live."

Moriarty couldn't help but clap after listening to the young girl's very eccentric dream. It was almost impossible but Moriarty thought of helping a little bit, he saw potential, a spark, _a glimmer_. Lillian on the other hand, appreciated his appreciation with a shy grin. She never encountered people who would clap, not alone listen to her impossible dream.

"That's way cooler than mine. Wow." Moriarty raised his eyebrows. "You said you think guns are awesome?" Lillian nodded excitedly. Moriarty pulled down the retractable arm rest and opened it to show a black shiny gun and a cartridge laid beside it on the velvet fabric. Lillian gaped at the sight, but her jaw literally dropped when Moriarty handed the gun to her.

"It's-it's pretty," gasped Lillian, "and heavy." She held it in two hands.

"There's a lot prettier, heavier, and cooler guns than that small one. Heard of a grenade launcher?"

Lillian shook her head.

Moriarty smirked. "They're my favourite," he whispered.

"Does this one have bullets?" Lillian nodded back to the gun in her hands. She tried to place her fingers properly, and laughed when the tip of her pointer finger can't even cover the trigger.

"No, of course not," replied Moriarty. "Can't risk a gun fire started by a cute little girl." He messed Lillian's hair. She flinched a bit, she doesn't like touching.

A notification dinged from Moriarty's phone. The text he waited has arrived. He took the gun from Lillian's hands and opened his door to leave.

"We'll be gone for awhile. Do you want some music on?" He asked. He pressed a button in the car door before Lillian could answer. "Seb, get the package—"

That was the last thing Lillian heard before Moriarty closed the door. She grabbed her school bag and decided to do some homework while listening to The Best Hits of Queen. It was halfway through track 17-Under Pressure when Jim Moriarty and his driver returned, panting, sweating, rushing with adrenaline, and carrying bags of sandwiches in their arms.

"Hiii," Lillian greeted in a sing-song voice.

"Helloooo," returned Moriarty as he sat beside her.

"What does _silhouetto_ mean?" asked Lillian while she returned her notebooks into her bag.

"It's like a shadow but it's not. It's your dark outline against a bright background," answered Moriarty while he wiped the gunpowder from his hands.

"Oh, so those buildings over there? The dark I can see is the silhouetto?"

"Yep! Want a sandwich?" Moriarty offered the bag that contains the food to Lillian.

"I would love me some sandwiches." Lillian peeked inside the bag, smelling the heavenly scent of the freshly-cooked meat on buttered herb bread. She pulled and instantly bit onto it. She moaned at the taste of juicy tuna with mayo. "What did you get?"

"Chicken." Moriarty took another bite from it and savored the excellent flavor.

The driver climbed into his seat after dropping something at the hood. He adjusted the front view mirror to see Moriarty, the consultant gave his driver a nod.

As they ate their sandwiches, Lillian kept putting her head inside the bag as the heavenly smell of the food were literally giving her life. Moriarty found it entertaining but also a bit vulgar. He then stopped Lillian, taking the bag from her.

"Okay, okay. You're inhaling all of its smell. You're gonna leave it scentless later." 

"Is that even possible?" Lillian ask, giggling.

Moriarty chuckled, shaking his head while placing the paper bag by his side. He jumped on his seat when he remembered a thing he forgot.

"Almost forgot! I have another gift!" He reached into both of his pockets, pulling out closed fists. "Guess where."

Lillian swallowed her food before analysing. She tilted her head to the side, comparing the size of his fists—the left looked bigger. He used his thumb as a cover at the end, but it failed when Lillian caught glimpse of a reflected light. She pointed on his left fist.

"Coooooorrect!" Moriarty opened his fist and a silver bullet rested on his open palm.

Lillian picked it up and held it closely to her curious eyes.

"Is it real?" She asked, turning the bullet in her fingers as it reflects the light inside the car.

"Of course it is. That would've been yours if you used the gun earlier, it's the first bullet. It's very special, so it's yours." He poked Lillian in the shoulder.

"The gun or this bullet?" grinned Lillian.

Jim Moriarty face-palmed, laughing. The driver even laughed at the front, finding the exchange of the two funny.

"You make me laugh," said Moriarty, still laughing.

Lillian blushed at his words. She had never gotten this much compliments, not alone all from the same person in one day. She adjusted at her seat, swinging her legs at the edge, and asked in a low voice, "Does... that make me special?"

"Very." He messed Lillian's hair again. "But the bullet is the one that's yours."

"Awesome! Thank you Mr. Moriarty." Lillian smiled at him. She placed the bullet in her torn up bag, in the packet beside the shiny grey box of the blooded compass. She turned to Moriarty again to ask him more things she wanted to know about him, specifically the spying, consulting, and food. Moriarty, in return of liking Lillian's interest, told her stories that seemed to be entertaining for a child, but horrid for an adult. Lillian liked the one where rock music was playing while bombs exploded around him. It was when he met one of the richest men in Europe and they didn't became _friends_... sadly.

Although the young girl was enjoying the company, there's the shrill nervousness that sparked when she noticed the tiny red dots on Moriarty's suit, the bruised knuckles of the driver, and the heavy thump when the bags were placed at the back. She stayed silent, acting innocent. Vulnerability scarred her before, it won't happen again.

Lillian wasn't relieved however when they arrived at the orphanage. She felt like being taken away again.

Moriarty opened the door and they both left the car.

"Can I have a picture with you first? Before you go inside," he requested.

Lillian furrowed her eyebrows but agreed.

Moriarty took out his phone and handed it to his driver. He squatted beside her, his hand on her tiny waist. A picture was taken. Lillian gulped, she doesn't really physical touch, it heightened her senses to an alarming state. But touch was what people DO, and Moriarty seemed to be a fine person. Lillian trusted him.

Another picture was taken then Moriarty rang the doorbell. The vibrating bell echoing in their ears.

A young woman, whose name was Miss Carmen, came to open the door and smiled when she saw the people on the other side. "You must be Mr. Jim Moriarty," she said. "Thank you for bringing back Lillian. We were wondering why she wasn't on the bus."

"You're welcome." Moriarty grinned. "I saw her walking _alone_ in the street and I was afraid someone bad might do something to her."

He was lying—Lillian noticed. _Why_ , she thought. It's not like she's been in more serious trouble before.

"Oh, you're a saint," Miss Carmen commented.

Jim Moriarty roared in laughter. "Oh no. I'm just being uhm,... kind."

Miss Carmen gazed down to Lillian, who stand motionless beside Moriarty. The woman's sweet expression changed to a demanding one, and nodded towards inside.

Lillian looked up. "Thank you for everything, Mr. Moriarty." She shook his hand before going in, but Moriarty's firm grip stayed, not releasing the young girl's hand.

He only did it to mess her hair for the fourth time. A bit of irritation swelled up inside Lillian and the urge to slice his hand off flashed in her thoughts. Dark and horrifying as it was, Lillian quickly removed out of her mind. She liked Jim Moriarty.

"It's no problem, Lily Pond." He showed his strange smile again. "Keep the gift to yourself, hmm," he whispered to her with all the serious, intimidating gaze that left Lillian more curious. He started to walk to the car and stopped by the door. "Have a fun day at school tomorrow, Lily Pond."

With that, Jim Moriarty left Lillian to return to her life again, but it wasn't the usual life she had like before.

The next day at school, Lilian didn't caught a glimpse of Dana and Ginger. No squeaky, annoying voices; no red hair waiting by the door or someone suddenly dragging Lillian from behind. A satisfied grin crossed her lips as she thought to herself what a job well done she did yesterday. The grin faded when Lillian saw a note on her chair, with a name and a watermark of a magpie.

_They won't be bothering you anymore  
I made sure :)  
Have a fun day, dear Lily  
~Jim Moriarty, Consultant_

Lillian felt safe. She knew she could trust him.


	3. Consulting Detective Sherlock Holmes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw// pain, suffering, mentions of death

They were never gone.

Lillian never felt alone anymore, but somehow, she was in the spotlight of danger. saw them following her at the corner of her eyes. She caught glimpses of them at the corner of her eyes and they're gone within a blink. They were in school, fieldtrips, or even just a walk in the street. Lillian tried to make them stop, she tried many times as she never went down without a fight (if that makes it worse), but after a day, they appear again, making them seem infinite.

She wondered why they were following her—in their cars, in their suits and cheap disguises. _Why?_ She only started noticing them when she was placed into another foster care, a week after meeting Jim Moriarty. It was just another ordinary foster care, as far as she observed — ordinarily boring. Lillian wanted to know the answer for this question that has been bugging her for more than a year now.

But that's not something to think about now at the present moment. Lillian rather has to find a way to escape these school thugs she reported to the principal. That was just a sweet revenge for... well, nothing actually. Lillian liked going through people's businesses; she liked simply knowing.

Her head banging on the gates behind Lillian brought her mind back to reality. Four pairs of eyes glared daggers at her, all furious and raging at the ten-year-old who somehow revealed their crimes to the school's head office. They were high-schoolers, she's— who was she anyway?

"You nosy little shit! I'm asking you again — how d'you know about it, huh?" asked one.

"I-I don't know what you're talking about," answered Lillian, who pushed herself up.

"Don't lie! Or else I-I-I..." He pulled out his inhaler from his pocket. Lillian recognized the smell of narcotics from the old center she used to live.

"You'd better stop taking that if you want to live—" her eyes scanned his wrists, lips, and eyes "—nevermind. You're dying."

She abstained herself from smiling at the older boy. It was astonishing he hasn't passed out yet from intaking and overdosing.

She abstained herself from smiling at the older boy. It was astonishing he hasn't passed out yet from intaking and overdosing.

"Shut it!" They grabbed a fistful of Lillian's hair and pulled her face close to theirs. "You don't mess with us, kid. Haven't they taught you not to disrespect your elders?"

Lillian, all calm and casual, raised an eyebrow. "First of, I'm glad you know you're old. Second, let go of me."

" _Please,_ " they pushed.

"You don't have to beg," remarked Lillian.

And suddenly, Lillian's cheek had a burning sensation. The hand was quick, she didn't have time to react. But the burning, stinging sensation she felt— _ooh_ —was nothing new to her anymore. She returned her anger to the boy who hit her. Using the same power as his hit, Lillian brought her feet to his member and he released her. Down on the ground, she continued to kick him.

But Lillian's rage fit was shortly interrupted when three other people pulled her back and showered their own revenge. Lillian curled in a ball against the gate while new batch of bruises formed on her body. She quietly wondered to herself why is it that when anyone does good they always received pain as payback while evil continues on their way? _Why?_

It wasn't fair, Lillian knew that since the day she gained consciousness. The world wasn't fair at all.

Lillian pushed herself up, staggering at the process and wiped blood from her head. She wasn't going down without a fight.

Two hands with scraped knuckles and a bump on the head later, she was walking home. A police car just drove off from the street she lived in, so she hurried in to look at the commotion, only to see blue and red lights and a yellow line by the gate, people going in and out of the structure she's been living in only two months. Her shoulders fell down and she stopped two houses away. A neighbour of hers was talking to a policewoman when they noticed the young girl come into view. The officer nodded and walked towards Lillian with a sorrowful look in her face.

"Hi," she greeted, "is there any chance your name is Lillian—"

"Just Lillian," the young girl quickly interrupted. Last names never really bared a meaning for her.

"Oh, you're bleeding. Let's get the medic for you while I ask some questions if you don't mind."

"But I do mind," muttered Lillian. The officer led her to a nearby car and got her a first aid kit to tend some wounds. She was about to take Lillian's hand when the young girl stopped her.

"Don't you see the swollen thumb? That's a fracture, possibly compacted, it's not good to be that rash, miss. Start with the peroxide, clean and add solution to the gauze then make splinter," said Lillian, raising her eyebrow at the woman.

"How do you know that?" she asked.

"I just know it."

As Lillian got her hands cleaned, a tall man with wild dark curls mopped on his head and wearing a flowing black coat came sauntering out of the house. He talked quickly in his deep voice, hands flying around to help with the details. He only stopped to talk, more like argue, to another person. The man noticed Lillian and they stared at each other.

"Is she the foster child?" he asked the officer tending Lillian. He didn't even let her answer to speak again. "Hello—"

"You're not one of them," spoke Lillian, tilting her head a bit. "You don't have an ID, you wear casual, and you barely acknowledge their work." Lillian glanced at the woman beside her.

The man furrowed his eyebrows. Lillian only noticed how brightly coloured his eyes were when they shifted into a curious look. They stared at each other again, but interrupted when a new officer arrived with a suitcase. Lillian surveyed it to be containing her clothes and stuff.

"Is this the daughter?" He pointed at Lillian. "We've got all her stuff packed and the children's services is gonna be here any minute, so whenever you're ready kid—"

"I'd like to ask her some questions first," the man quickly said.

"I-I don't think that's needed, Mr. Sherlock Holmes. The CS's gonna take care of her interv—"

"I don't see them here yet, do you? I'll just be quick," Sherlock stated.

The other policeman nodded then checked his watch.

"Can I have a check on my stuff though? I don't want to find out later that my favourite shirt is missing." Lillian let out her hand in front of the officer. He reluctantly gave it to her.

"It's yours," he said.

Once Lillian got her hands on it, she broke out for a run, leaving the unsuspecting adults jolting to chase after her. All the arms and hands reaching out missed her, no one held her back so she left the the scene without a trace. She didn't look back like she usually does, there was nothing to look back. She left them for dead after all.

There were tears verging on the corner of her eyes. Lillian asked questions again, she never knew the answers to them, probably won't until the end of times. However, someone just answered one — she's not going to die sooner.

Lillian felt a sudden tug from someone that pulled her back from the busy road ahead of her. She could've died if she took another step, but someone saved her. They saved her from what could've been the end. Out of fright and grief, Lillian wrapped her arms around the warm body next to her, tight and shaking.

Sherlock Holmes felt the young girl's distress as she trembled under his touch. She started crying and his shirt became wet. He has to despise it obviously, people's affection wasn't his area, and yet he went down on his knees and returned the embrace (a soft spot, maybe?). Lillian calmed nonetheless and loosened her grip. Sherlock still notice she was shivering as she pulled away and wiped her tears. Reluctantly, he removed his scarf around his neck and handed it Lillian, with a little bit of hope she wouldn't accept. She was hesitating as well, pulling her fingers away and finally accepting it.

"Come on," Sherlock said and he began to walk round the pavement.

"W-where?" Lillian asked after tying the scarf around her. It's thick cotton fabric warming her neck and shoulders. She then grabbed her bag on the ground and followed behind Sherlock. "You're not taking me back there, are you? I mean you're not a cop like them. You must have a different viewpoint or judgement."

Sherlock fought himself a smile. The child talked as if she wasn't in the brink of death a minute ago, and not even a thank you.

"And what impression gave you I'm different from them?" He asked.

Lillian gazed up to him. "I told you before — you don't appear to be part of the investigation, you have your own investigation. I didn't say you're different, I said you must be having a different thought if you— well, you got to me first before the police."

"Thank you," she murmured under her breath that Sherlock almost didn't catch it. He did catch it, except it slipped through his hands because he was more impressed on the young girl's thought process.

Sherlock smirked but wiped it away quickly. "Lillian, correct?" He glanced down beside him.

"And you're Mr. Sherlock Holmes?" Sherlock nodded. "Where are you taking me, Mr. Holmes?"

Sherlock didn't answer so Lillian stopped walking.

"Quickly now, before the sun still hasn't set," called Sherlock who continued to walk.

"I'm not supposed to go with people whom I don't know their true intentions!" Lillian answered back.

"I'm not taking you to the police." Sherlock turned around after a few feet away from Lillian.

"How am I suppose to know that's true?"

"If I've been lying, you should be on your way already to the child services' interrogation room with a new file for foster care."

Lillian silently winced at Sherlock's answer. Not because of the carelessness in the tone but about having a new profile. Lillian grew with change all around her, both sudden and the expected types, like foster care. Finding perfect families are tough, even though there's nothing perfect in this world.

"That still doesn't answer my first question." Lillian took small steps to Sherlock until she covered half of the distance before and stopped again.

"Somewhere you won't have your interrogation. I've worked the case already, you're out of it and you don't have to undergo the process of being questioned as the victim's...—" Sherlock averted his gaze for a second, searching for a word. Surely family was not suiting to hear, judging by Lillian's reactions on the crime scene. "— associate."

Lillian raised an eyebrow. "What's that mean? _Asso-ciate_?"

Sherlock shrugged, turning away from Lillian. "Contact, someone you have connection or relation with, usually in the line of work but it depends."

"Oh," Lillian mumbled. She silently walked behind Sherlock, fiddling her thumbs with the zipper of her bag. "So where are we going?"

He didn't answer the question, instead they kept walking.

Sherlock Holmes kept stealing glances at the high corners of buildings with the cameras, telephone booths, and slow-driving black cars. Lillian also noticed they made a figure eight around two buildings, and now as the two of them wait for the walk signal in the pedestrian crossing to go green, which has been one minute, forty-two seconds and counting, Lillian looked up to Sherlock and tugged his coat's sleeve.

In a low voice, she asked, "Why do you keep looking around? at the cameras and cars? Is someone following you too?"

"I wouldn't call it following, no, I have some— You said 'too'." Sherlock surveyed the area again. "Who's following you?"

Lillian's eyes grew wide and she bit her lip. That was a slip up, he wasn't supposed to know that.

"No one," she answered as she tapped her foot absent-mindedly.

Sherlock grabbed Lillian's shoulder and lead her back to the direction they came from. "I knew it! It wasn't him getting followed, it's you. Ha! Change of plans, I'm taking you somewhere else. Stay close."

"What? Why? It's nothing—"

"Your feet says it, and the sudden anxiousness, defensive words, and disturbed reactions. You're being obvious than ever," Sherlock answered, doing glances as he observed Lillian's nervous character.

Lillian tried to take control on herself again, but doing that wasn't easy, it never was. All she had to do left is leave everything to Sherlock. He was cleverer than she thought if he noticed her movements as a sign of nervousness.

The sun had already set as they walked in a quiet neighbourhood. Dim street lights and cars often passing illuminated the streets, without it, it was darker. Sherlock pulled Lillian closer to him in case something or someone jumped out in their way unexpectedly.

"Ow!" Lillian yelped when Sherlock held her hand.

"You alright?" Sherlock stopped and turned around to examine Lillian's hand. He only noticed the scratches on it were as recent to the ones on the young girl's face. "Where did the wounds come from?"

"I was playing with some friends at school. The fracture is hurting however."

"It's nothing serious."

"It hurts, you know."

"You're not using your hands to walk so it's not suppose to slow us down. Come on."

"A fracture is a fracture and it needs medical attention," Lillian retorted.

Sherlock sighed. "Alright." They walked back to the main road and Sherlock waved a hand on the road. A cab stopped on the curb a few moments later. Sherlock opened the door. "Get in."

Lillian climbed in, followed by Sherlock. He said a name to the cabbie, probably a nearby clinic to where Lillian's fracture can be tended to. She was quietly pleased the cleverer man listened to her after a bit of argument.

Or maybe not, because after a few minutes, they stopped at an ordinary neighbourhood with no hospitals or clinics in sight. Sherlock paid for the fare and the got out of the cab.

"You thought I'm taking you to the hospital. Clever, but not enough. The wounds are properly cleaned, the bump on your head's almost gone, and you seemingly know how to handle a fracture. I'm not that stupid." Sherlock approached one of the large buildings and pressed the doorbell.

"Didn't say you were," mumbled Lillian.

The door in front of them was opened by a middle-aged dark woman, her wild curls framing her plump face. She smiled when she saw Sherlock, and wider when she saw Lillian.

"Another one, Mr. Holmes? Poor child, the world's seriously is a cruel place." She gasped when she saw Lillian's wounds clearer. The woman cupped the young girl's face and looked at the bruises. "Oh deary, let's clean those up. Thank you for bringing her, Mr. Holmes. Oh, such a nice man."

She was about to close the door and Sherlock stepped out when Lillian stopped them both. She grabbed Sherlock's hand, making him turn to her. "This is yours." Lillian returned his scarf. "Also can I ask a question? ... what's— what's his cause of death?"

And Sherlock thought Lillian forgot about the crime due to her quietness on the topic. He took a deep breath before answering. "Strangulation."

Lillian furrowed her eyebrows. "Are you sure it's not suffocation?"

For a second, Sherlock was caught off-guard at Lillian's statement, a complicating statement that is. He did a quick scan on Lillian again, there was something he cannot place on her when he looks. Intelligent she was, maybe that was it, a child got only confused. Humming as Sherlock raised his eyes again, he told Lillian about the differences of strangulation and suffocation, and the obvious evidences found in the crime scene.

Lillian, in return, acknowledge it. "It was a pleasure, Mr. Holmes." She took out her hand.

"Goodbye," Sherlock said without shaking Lillian's hand. He walked until he needed to turn to another street. Glancing back, Lillian wasn't there anymore, and neither was the uneasy feeling.


End file.
